


a kiss with a fist (is better than none)

by Flyhomelwt



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Louis is a dancer, M/M, Work In Progress, harry is a boxer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 20:28:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyhomelwt/pseuds/Flyhomelwt
Summary: trying to write a fic hope it all wrks out x





	a kiss with a fist (is better than none)

**Author's Note:**

> trying to write a fic hope it all wrks out x

CHAPTER ONE

He wipes the blood from his nose and proceeds to land punch after punch - right hook after left - into the body of of his opponent. 

A nasty uppercut.

A groan of pain.

A roar from the crowd.

He feels a firm hand on his back that snakes around his neck and hisses ‘you fucking did it!’ and naturally, as anyone would, he replies ‘no, Simon, you did it’ and pulls his manager into a tight hug. then he’s being lifted into the air just as you would lift a trophy because he did not win - they did. 

That night he sleeps tight after his victory whilst Simon Cowell and the rest of his team stays out partying and drinking away their first world problems.

He likes it here in his king-sized bed where he lays clutching his pillow, one leg sprawled out into the empty sheets beside him with the quiet hum of city as his soundtrack. He likes it far away from those who only care when he’s winning.

—-

The droning sound of the alarm clock is what wakes Harry on the chilly October morning as he dreams alone in all his champion glory. Though he felt less like a champion and more like a hospital patient as he winces at the feel of his soft bed nudging at the bruises on his upper body. He does wonder sometimes if it really is worth all this: getting so hurt just to inflict a fraction more pain onto somebody else so he can be declared a winner. However, the ethics of boxing can wait for another morning because Harry needs to get the fuck out of his self-pitying state of slumber and go learn how to get better at beating people up.

Pulling on his dressing gown, he walks into the main living space of his mildly ostentatious penthouse apartment and turns on the tv, as he does everyday, and switches the channel to ITV for his dose of This Morning. Phillip and Holly’s chirpy voices fill the void of the large room as harry makes his way to the kitchen to prepare his trusty protein shake. Then, as always, he pops his toast in the toaster, twiddles his thumbs whilst listening to a pair of middle class mums debate on whether boys can wear skirts to school (obviously not), removes his toast from the toaster, butters, devours, and rushes back to his closet to get changed.

Staring himself in the full length mirror of his closet door, he analyses the marks of his victory. 

Harry really fucking loves his body; the broad build of his shoulders, the toned ripples of his abs, and most importantly the array of tattoos littered across his body that personify the blood, sweat, and more blood that he puts in on the daily to become the best version of himself. The ripe bruises that paint his body are not just battle wounds but badges of honour that symbolise this journey that wrote itself in Harry’s deepest and darkest sorrow. 

Unfortunately, grey adidas shorts matched with a tank top of the same kind would have to do for today for as great as being a fearless warrior is, Harry can only be that hero in the ring, on fight night, whilst his opponent is dropping in and out of consciousness. So, for now, he opts for the basics.

After changing, Harry walks out into his bedroom that over-looks the beautiful London skyline and glances at the alarm clock on his bedside table.  
7:46am 

With that, Harry rushes back into the kitchen to grab his pre-prepared protein shake and fumbles around the ceramic pot of keys on the side to find his house keys - he really should get a keychain.

Eventually, Harry locates the medium-sized, silver key with a slight black mark on the tip and rushes too the door.

Keys in hand; thoughts in head. 

~~~~

It’s a short walk to the gym. 

Harry tries his best to avoid cyclists making their way to work and ensures that he says ‘thank you’ to those who congratulate him on last night’s win. Without trying to sound too modest, Harry is genuinely surprised at the abundance of people who actually tuned in to watch the fight as it most definitely did not receive as much publicity as usual.

Although, he is lucky to have such loyal viewers of his fights he thinks as he walks through the automatic doors of the gym. 

Entering the reception area he is greeted by Julie (the middle-aged receptionist) who gives a large, toothy smile and exclaims ‘well done on your fight, Harry!’ as she clasps her frail hands together. Harry responds by offering a cheeky wink and giving an arrogant ‘all in a days work” to which Julie giggles like a school girl.

Harry had once met her husband, Pete, and let’s just say he doesn’t blame her for being so flirtatious around every other male that breathes.  
Harry then awkwardly waves goodbye and makes his way down the stairs from the modern reception area into the dark and dingy room beneath that feels like home and smells of sweat. 

Walking into the gym feels like he had just created world peace; everyone immediately stands up to shake his hand and congratulate him on his victory. Last in the queue to see to him is his coach, Liam, possibly the only man in this gym who he can stand. 

Immediately, he is pulled into a tight embrace and is planted a kiss upon his head to which harry mentally gags - it’s one thing to be gay, it’s another to be gay with Liam. 

‘Thank you for that one mate’ Harry forces a laugh and playfully pushes Liam away. 

‘Yeh. Besides,’ Liam grabs the laptop on the chair just next to the gym’s entrance, ‘we’ve got a fight to watch.’ Liam takes his laptop and sits on the floor, leaning against the rubber of the boxing ring and Harry follows in suit.

They sit through the the first five rounds in complete silence as Harry admittedly admires his work - he is a complete lion in the ring. That is until the sixth round where Liam stops the video and points to Harry’s feet from last night, ‘watch this’, he demands.

Harry sighs at the prospect of the criticism to come and watches the screen and - shit. He had stumbled slightly. However, Harry does wonder if the mistake was so minor that he would have even noticed the slip up if it wasn’t for Liam’s remark. So, he brushes it off and watches further until once again Liam’s voice rips through the air-

‘Here, again.’ He had thrown a lazy punch. 

‘Once again.’ Liam points out that he had completely missed his opponents body. 

‘And again.’ This time, Liam replays Harry’s final uppercut and Harry seems confused - how could that have gone wrong? It was undoubtedly what won him the game; he had spotted an opening and went in for the kill. 

‘Watch carefully’ Liam instructed. So he did. 

Harry had landed the uppercut and time suddenly went in slow motion: his opponent, the notorious Anthony Joshua, fell back in agony into the ropes and as this happened, Harry was like a mirror and had toppled forwards also and fuck- he hadn’t even noticed at the time.

As Harry’s mouth hangs open simultaneously in shock and shame, Liam turns to him and speaks to him the words Harry has always dreaded: 

‘This isn’t looking good’, Harry shifts in seat, ‘there are continuous mistakes regarding your balance and overall control over your body.’ The gym is completely silent and in this moment an unspoken tension is strung up in the air like fairy lights before Liam sighs,

‘I love you, Harry, but your head seems way more in this than your body. Don’t get me wrong, you possess an immense talent but it seems as though you have lost some of the fundamental skills of this sport.’ 

The words hit Harry like 40 punches to the face because he is not used to failure and he can himself admit that he was lucky to have won with that form. Liam notices the emptiness in Harry’s eyes as he stares at the wall ahead and places his hand on his student’s- his friend’s- shoulder.

‘I have a plan.’ Liam boldly announces making Harry’s ears prick up as he glances towards the man perched next to him. Liam hints at his idea no further and simply says ‘follow me.’, leading Harry out of the basement where spectators watched in pure confusion.

They pass through the corridors of the large gym facility until they reach a foreign flight of stairs which immediately sparks Harry’s intrigue, ‘Liam where the fuck are you taking me?’ 

‘You’ll see.’ Liam replies, still a few paces in front of him but Harry could still hear the smirk on his coach’s face. God, Harry wants to punch Liam so hard to show him what he was really capable of in the ring. This fantasy, however, is soon interrupted as Harry is blinded by a bright light cascading into the room through two large windows and when Harry turns to guard his face from what he believes to be heaven’s opening, he is met with his own reflection that is cut in two by a wooden bar and-

Fuck. A dance studio. And Harry wants to punch Liam all over again. 

Just as Harry thinks this situation couldn’t get any worse, the light falls upon a figure - a boy - dressed in what appears to be a pair of tights and fucking leotard that stands out as a light pink against his more tanned complexion 

And fuck. Harry wants to punch him too. 

So, when the smaller boy begins to wander towards the pair and pulls Liam into a tight hug, Harry begins to understand his fate.

‘Harry, meet Louis’, Liam announces as the smaller boy holds his hand out for a shake and, reluctantly, Harry accepts the kind gesture, returning a grip of Louis’ hand followed by a firm shake.

Liam continues, ‘Louis is a dancer at the Royal Dance Academy and a friend of mine, he has volunteered to help improve your footwork and to maintain control over your body during fights.’

Harry feels his eyes roll to the back of his head and immediately summons a reply, “Liam, as kind as this offer is, i don’t need some twink to teach me how to pirouette. What i need is a professional boxer to teach me boxing since, you know, it is my sport.’

Quickly after saying this, Harry knows his opinion hasn’t settled well in Liam’s mind, nor Louis’. This is confirmed as Louis’ eyes lock Harry’s in a squint and the scene begins to mimic that of a duel in a western movie. However, instead of lassoing Harry, the dancer opens his mouth.

‘Firstly, i am impressed by your ballet knowledge, tough boy.” Harry flushes with embarrassment and anticipates Louis’ next point.

‘And secondly, Ballet is one of the toughest, if not the toughest, art forms on this planet and if you question for one second that i cannot teach you everything you need to know about control, you have no chance in this business.’ Harry glances at Liam for reassurance but Liam just simply raises his eyebrow and reverts his attention back to Louis. 

‘And thirdly,’ shit, Harry thinks, there’s a third point ‘I want to be here about as much as you do but i figured i’d do a favour for my friend Liam here because i can tell that your improvement is something he wants dearly. So are you going to stop pouting and get over it or what?’ 

How could harry argue that? What did Shakespeare once say? Though she be but little, she is fierce? Now Harry isn’t one for Shakespeare but he can admit that a truer word has never been spoken.

Liam can clearly smell the tension between the two as Harry’s fist begins to clench and quickly progresses the conversation, ’Luckily for you two, today will just consist of Louis watching our sparring session which, by the way, will be carried out in this room.’ 

Harry catches a quick look of Louis who is stood with a slightly smug expression for whatever reason. He can already tell these next few weeks will be less of an opportunity for Harry to improve his sport and more of a taster of what Hell will be like. 

Hell yeah. 

Liam picks up the two pair of gloves conveniently placed in the corner of the studio on a battered chair and hands Harry his trusty pair of red gloves which seem to have lost all life. As Harry and Liam pull on their gloves, Louis sits down against the mirrors and pulls out a notebook from the bag besides him and begins to scribble something down. 

“Oi we haven’t even started yet. Are you planning on writing up a fucking novel on this session?’, Harry couldn’t resist but comment on the sight. Louis places his pen down and opens his mouth once again, ‘For your information, i was writing the date and for the record, you would be no protagonist in my book.’

Maybe Harry should just stop speaking altogether and start sparring like he’s never sparred before to prove this entire friendly get-together of ‘let’s teach Harry how to do his fucking job’ is completely pointless.

However, as Harry begins to throw punches, the sound of Louis scribbling in his notebook haunts his every move. Sweat dripping down his back, Harry takes out today’s anger on Liam, throwing his all into every punch before his body eventually gives way and Harry collapses into a heap on the floor - who’s stupid idea was this ?

Dropping his notebook, Louis runs over to the middle of the studio to kneel down next to Harry and shake him awake which just further ignites Harry’s anger, ‘I’m tired, not fucking dead you know?’

Liam stands with his arms folded and watches the scenario beneath him unfold.

‘Sorry for caring’ Louis replies, pushing Harry’s shoulder away and storming back to the mirror to collect his things and leave. For one fleeting second, Harry believes this is the last time he will have to see Louis’ very punchable face but, naturally, Liam has other plans as he shouts back to Louis, ‘Where the fuck do you think you’re going then?’ 

To which Louis snidely replies, ‘i have a real training session to get to.’

Not only is his face punchable but his personality is also, Harry thinks to himself. 

‘For fuck’s sake!’ Liam’s cries, clearly having enough of Louis and Harry’s antics, ‘9am tomorrow you two will be in here - alone - because i cannot stand this pettiness anymore, and Louis you will get to teaching Harry, and Harry you’ll get some rest in the meantime. Off you go’

This is the first time Harry has ever seen Liam so angry, so to save himself from certain death, he grudgingly lifts his aching body off of the chilly floor of the studio and makes his way to the door which had just swung shut in Louis’ departure. 

It’s then when Harry’s moral compass inside his head starts spinning again and before leaving, turns and blurts out a measly ‘thank you’ to Liam who is stood with his head in hands. It had never crossed Harry’s mind before - the effect his stubbornness can have on those around him and as he realises it is not pretty sight, he also makes his exit. 

~~~

Autumn sunshine hits Harry’s face as he once again enters the bustling streets of London town, alongside the cold grasp of the air that sits between the skyscrapers and sunken office buildings.

‘All in a days work’ Harry sighs to himself as he embarks on the short walk back to his apartment through the old city, ridden with failure.


End file.
